


Tenuous

by Aryagraceling



Series: Catharsis [18]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Referenced Dysphoria, Self care and lack thereof, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Umino Iruka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-23 20:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17690465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryagraceling/pseuds/Aryagraceling
Summary: When you toe the line between living and letting everything consume you, it's hard to find the energy to rest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW for all things mentioned in tags and generally related to depression. I'm having a really hard time with life and working through feelings with fic is cheaper than therapy, esp when I can safely call out my bad behaviors. Depression is not pretty. 
> 
> Not going to be everyone's cuppa.

Iruka doesn’t know what day it is. He fell into bed some time ago and it’s dark now, he thinks, no light shining through the curtains. The clock on the wall died at 5:26, batteries fading along with every remnant of his energy. It’s hard to even bring a hand up to pull the blanket higher over his chest. He hasn’t bothered with binding since he took his shirt off.

It’d only make the cuts sting worse.

The pillow is disgusting. His comforter is nearly too heavy to turn under, its weight pushing down on every joint and making them  _ scream.  _ He’d toss it to the floor but then he’d be freezing and forced to either look at the old blood or wash it off, and the thought of standing makes him sick. Laying down is painful enough. His muscles ache and his skin aches and most of all  _ he  _ aches, down to his very core.

Anyone who says it’s darkest before dawn is a fucking liar. It’s darkest just after everything’s been dropped into your lap. It’s darkest after a few moments of peace before it’s all ripped away, only the specter of happiness left to haunt your halls at midnight.

Maybe he should never replace the clock batteries.

It can be midnight whenever he wishes.

He’s glad for one thing, and it’s that he didn’t give into Naruto’s demand he get a cat. A cat would insist on food, forcing him to get up and settle onto feet of lead only to be yowled at to clean the litter box. Moving his legs to stretch slightly is too much effort, so cleaning?

He wants to bawl.

The tears don’t come, though, because they never do when it’s bad. When the rage sets in, yes. When the anxiety takes root, yes. When he’s sitting down to another meal alone because no one’s coming to check on him, yes. It’s fine. Umino Iruka doesn’t need anyone to check on him because they’d see him with red eyes and a trembling in his hands he can never get rid of these days.

Tears don’t come when he’s wrung dry.

He wishes the clock would tick. It would distract him from each heartbeat that sounds like ‘die’ in his head. Who would come find him, Anko? Izumo? Kakashi, maybe, coming to rub his nose in the fact that he hasn’t showered in what’s likely days and has his tits hanging out like the whore Mizuki always told him he was.

If he had a cat, maybe it would scare away whoever was knocking on the door. Maybe the bag rustling in their hands would’ve dropped and Iruka could scavenge a little of whatever’s left over. He supposes he’s starving. It’s been a while since he’s had anything but a few sips of the water beside his bed. The coffee cup he dragged in after Hiruzen’s funeral has gone more than cold. It’s probably disgusting by now, but then, what isn’t?

Whoever it is won’t fucking quit.

With a low groan, Iruka reaches for the sweatshirt draped over the headboard. Every inch is too much and the blankets drop to the floor along with his grip on reality as he sits up. The fabric is stale as it scrapes over the scabs on his breasts and opens one up on his arm that he doesn’t remember making.

It’s worse than he thought, if he doesn’t remember painting his wrists crimson.

Kakashi’s voice is worried as it sounds through the door, and Iruka doesn’t have the energy to hate it. You go on three dates with someone, he shouts you down in front of all your peers, your village is wrecked, and then he shows up at your house when you haven’t left in a while.

Perfect courting strategy.

Kakashi’s hand is poised to knock when Iruka lets the door creak open. There’s a bag of something--Iruka doesn’t know what, and he’s not going to use the effort to raise his eyes from the floor--that doesn’t smell like instant ramen. It smells almost... _ fresh,  _ Iruka thinks as he takes a few sniffs.

Too good for him.

“I was worried,” Kakashi says, forgoing a greeting. “Looks like I had a reason to be.”

“You barely know me,” Iruka mutters darkly. “Maybe this is normal.”

“Then normal needs a shower.” Kakashi pushes gently past and his nose crinkles under the mask. “How long have you been like this, Iruka?”

“I’m fine.” He’s fucking  _ not  _ and they both know it, and Kakashi sets the bag on the kitchen table to hold both arms out. Iruka doesn’t take the offer, because if he does then his heart will crack and Kakashi will  _ know.  _

He’ll know.

“Sit, then,” Kakashi says, gesturing to the open kitchen chair. The other one’s piled with old uniforms Iruka hasn’t had the time--a lie, he’s had nothing  _ but  _ recently--to wash. “It’s been four days since anyone’s seen you and by the looks of things--” honestly, Iruka should just light the place on fire for easier cleaning-- “you haven’t been up to doing much.”

“Come in and insult me. How kind.”

“I came to help you,” Kakashi says. “You’re not the first person to have it up to here.” He cuts the air above his head and Iruka snorts derisively. Hatake fucking Kakashi, telling him he’s not alone. He wants to tell the jonin to piss off, leave him alone, but the thought disappears as Kakashi slides a bowl of ramen in front of him. “I once went nine days without eating when mine got bad. I passed it off as chakra exhaustion, but it wasn’t. It might taste like nothing right now, but eat. Please.”

One bite goes down, and Kakashi’s right.

It tastes like ash.

So do the second, third, and fourth bites. The fifth catches in his throat when he looks over to see Kakashi’s eye softened with sorrow. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Pityingly. I’m fine.”

“Where’s your room?” Kakashi asks.

Words escape Iruka. The chopsticks clatter to the table, drops of broth spreading across the wood as his jaw hangs open. He’d ask Kakashi if he’d come to take him while he was down if he could speak. He’d tell him he wouldn’t be the first, that he wasn’t surprised word got out and Kakashi wanted to take advantage of the man who bleeds.

“These apartments have washing machines, right? I could’ve sworn--”

“Just leave.” Iruka shoves the bowl away, stomach clenching around bite nine. “You watched me eat, okay? I can handle the rest on my own.”

Kakashi squats next to him and puts a hand on his bare knee. That’s a little sticky too, Iruka knows, but Kakashi keeps the contact as his eye searches Iruka’s face. “I am going to  _ help  _ you,” he says, “because that is what I do for the people I care about.”

“I’m just an easy target,” Iruka mumbles.

“Iruka--” Kakashi pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand-- “you’re anything but, trust me.”

“That’s not what some people say.”

“Take another bite.” Kakashi pushes the bowl back and stands, walking into the hallway and humming when he finds the small laundry closet. “Anko told me you sometimes get like this. You haven’t shown up for construction twice now, so I figured I’d come over with food and some free time to dedicate to you.”

“Don’t need it.”

“You do.”

Iruka should want to knock the soft smile from Kakashi’s masked face. He should want to get up and kick him out of the apartment, tell him that he needs to apologize before he speaks to Iruka again. He should want to do a lot of things, but all he can muster is a sigh as his shoulders droop. 

‘Should’ is hard when nothing is worth doing.

Kakashi doesn’t try getting him to speak again. Instead, he picks up the uniforms from the chair and disappears into the bathroom to come out with the towel Iruka tossed on the floor a week ago. Everything goes in the washer with such certainty that Iruka’s immediately suspicious of how many times Kakashi has done this for other people.

“I’m not stopping it,” Kakashi says when he looks over to see Iruka staring. “It needs to be done, Iruka. This is gross.”

Iruka doesn’t bother responding. 

He growls a little when Kakashi pulls the curtains open, though.

“I’m not going to force you outside, but locking yourself away from the sun isn’t healthy,” Kakashi says. “I’ll give it until the washer stops, and then you can tell me to close it again if you want to.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Rather not.” 

“You’re not my mother,” Iruka says.

“Well that’s good, because I’d rather be your boyfriend,” Kakashi mumbles as he opens the fridge and takes out the expired milk. At Iruka’s narrowed eyes, he lets his hand drop. “Even now, yes.”

Iruka’s tear ducts betray him, and his eyes fill. “You shouldn’t.”

“I  _ really  _ think I should,” Kakashi says. He sets the milk on the counter and moves in front of Iruka again, hesitantly reaching to swipe a thumb across his cheek. “I’m not going to tell you not to cry, Iruka, it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Iruka’s voice cracks and that’s it, because now he’s pulling his knees up to his chest and balancing precariously on the chair as he buries his face. His chest and arms hurt as they’re rubbed against the fabric and it only serves to make the tears fall quicker. “How could you say that when it’s obviously not okay?”

“Because crying is cathartic, even if you hate it.”

Iruka rips up his sleeve, whimpering when his nails catch on several of the cuts. “You know what else is cathartic? This. Bleeding. Because it  _ hurts.  _ Because I can  _ control  _ it.”

“I know it is,” Kakashi whispers. He pulls back to tug up his own sleeve and reveal a lattice of thin white scars lacing up his forearm. “But one day you’ll go too deep and end up in the hospital. Trust me, I know.” The washer kicks up a notch as both men meet each others’ eyes. “Let me in, Iruka. Let me help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Feedback is _always_ appreciated and encouraged, be it via kudos/comments/bookmarks or through any of my social media below.
> 
> * [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sparkswithyou)  
> * [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AryaGrace4)  
> * [Discord](https://discord.gg/ZkxAX9r) (or aryagraceling#4222 if you're not looking for another server)  
> * [AO3 Armada](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951), a facebook group for all creators and readers.


	2. Chapter 2

Kakashi knows. He knows the anger, the fear, and helplessness. He knows the effort Iruka’s expending to eat even the few bites of ramen, and he knows that recoiling from the stickiness of the chunin’s skin will do neither of them any favors. Neither will pointing out what is very obviously the chest he’s missed since he’s known Iruka.

“I just--” Iruka’s hand falls to hang limply against the chair, and Kakashi keeps quiet. “He was--” He pulls his shirt back down and uses the back to wipe where the tears are beginning to fall. If he _was_ planning on finishing the thought, he surely wasn’t going to now as his breath hitched. “Why did you come?”

“I missed you.” Kakashi stands and goes back to going through the fridge, pouring old liquid down the sink and throwing expired produce into the trash. He doesn’t know if it’s okay to admit just yet and he doesn’t know what exactly is...appropriate in the wake of uncovering a secret.

“You just missed my fixing your reports,” Iruka says, and Kakashi’s never heard him so tired.

“I missed _you,”_ Kakashi insists. When he turns back, Iruka’s face is still stained with tears. “Can I convince you to eat another bite?”

“I already feel like puking.”

“I’ll save it, then,” Kakashi says. Maybe he can convince Iruka to eat it later. The washing machine drowns out most of the younger man’s sniffling, which is a boon to both. Kakashi can do his best to calm his racing thoughts, and Iruka can hide.

“I need to shower, don’t I?” Iruka eventually asks.

Kakashi nods.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t _want_ my help.” Kakashi holds out a hand, the slightest bit of tension dropping from his shoulders when Iruka takes it and stands on wobbling legs. “Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Can you at least wipe yourself down?” Kakashi asks. The chunin’s hair needs brushing too, and those wounds… “I can get you bandaged if you’ll let me.”

Iruka folds his arms around his stomach and slouches forward as he walks down the hall. “I’ll take care of it,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to babysit me, Kakashi. I’ve made it through worse.”

“I’m here so you don’t have to,” Kakashi says, voice falling just as the bathroom door clicks shut. He sits against the wall and sinks down to the sound of fabric hitting the floor and water running while Iruka sighs.

He acts as if it’s been more than a few days since this was him. As if it’s been only a few days since he forced himself to look at his face in the mirror and tell himself he’s a miserable excuse for a shinobi. He doesn’t know what Iruka’s punishing himself for, or even _if_ he’s punishing himself. Maybe he’s just fallen deep enough he can’t claw his way out.

That’s nothing new to Kakashi either.

The washer stops, and he switches the load to the dryer. Really he should strip Iruka’s bed and take whatever else he’s hiding in his room, but whatever he’s hiding is not Kakashi’s to ferret out.

He’s already seen enough for today.

Iruka eventually reappears in the same clothes he was wearing before. He doesn’t say a word before disappearing into his room to change, coming out in a new baggy shirt and athletic shorts. His arms are bare and Kakashi takes a deep breath at exactly how many marks there are. None are dangerous, some already having healed to irritated pink lines. “There’s more, but I don’t want you looking at them,” Iruka says. “I’m not ready.”

“Can I go in the bathroom with you to help?” Kakashi asks.

A heavy sigh is all Iruka offers in return. He walks in and sits on the toilet to look out the window, barely aware of Kakashi asking where his medical kit is. Finally he points to the cabinet below the sink and rests his elbows on his thighs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know I shouldn’t. And you should be able to get all of them, but I can’t. Not yet.”

“I can help with the ones you’ll let me,” Kakashi says. His gloves hit the vanity and he examines the tanned skin carefully before setting to work. It’s not bad enough to warrant a medical jutsu, but he offers anyway.

“Don’t waste chakra on me,” Iruka says. “You’ve already done more than anyone else bothers.”

“They’re not the ones who want to be your partner,” Kakashi mumbles, unable to look up from bandaging. “I...do.”

“Thank you.” Iruka’s voice is nasally again, and a tear hits Kakashi’s thumb.

“Any time.” Kakashi straightens and stands, grabbing Iruka’s brush from the vanity. He at least rinsed his hair--it’s wet, tangled--and tries standing so Kakashi can access it easier. “You can go sit on a kitchen chair,” Kakashi says, reaching a hand to the small of Iruka’s back before thinking better and pulling back. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Sure.”

It’s slow going. Kakashi doesn’t know how long it’s been since Iruka last brushed his hair but it’s knotted to hell, the chunin wincing each time Kakashi accidentally hits a snarl and pulls on his sensitive scalp. Neither speak much. Kakashi wants to wrap his arms around Iruka and hold him until the sun dawns for him again, but Iruka shrinks away from each touch of his upper back and shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he insists when Kakashi remarks on it.

“You’re hurting,” Kakashi says. He can see the ridge of the scar Mizuki put on him through the fabric of his shirt, and then he realizes.

Iruka’s not wearing anything again.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says, fingers careful this time as he sets the brush aside and gathers the hair near Iruka’s nape. He takes one of the hair ties from the handle and wraps it around his wrist before separating the hair and beginning to braid. He’s done it for Sakura a few times out on missions when she complained about not being able to get twigs out of her hair after sleeping on the ground. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“Like seeing me living like this isn’t uncomfortable?” Iruka lets out a derisive snort. “Cut the shit, Kakashi. You’re the one who’s uncomfortable. I’m just numb. I’m nothing.”

“You’re wrong, but if you say so,” Kakashi says. He shrugs and continues, wrapping the elastic around the braid before letting it thump across Iruka’s spine. “Doesn’t this feel a little better? Being clean?”

“Yeah.” Iruka leans forward to rest his head against the back of the chair with a low groan. “It shouldn’t be like this. I’m a shinobi, for fuck’s sake. I should be out there with the rest of you, helping rebui--”

“Asuma’s been out for a few days too.”

“His father died.” Iruka’s fist clenches before his entire body slumps against the wood. “He was just the village leader. I should pull myself up and do my duty. It’s pathetic.”

“You two were close,” Kakashi says, “and everyone grieves differently.”

Iruka turns to face him and meets his steady gaze. “It’s not the first time this has happened,” he says. “I started when my parents passed and it hasn’t stopped since. It’s been a long time since it’s been this bad, not even when Mizuki put the shuriken in my back. I kept going because that’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s what we’re _all_ supposed to do.”

“‘Supposed to’ doesn’t always mean it’s the right thing,” Kakashi says. “Sure, there are some necessities. We should remain strong, fight for the village and for what’s right. But being strong doesn’t always mean standing, Iruka. Sometimes it’s knowing when to take a step back. It’s knowing your limits, and I think you found yours.”

“It’s just depression,” Iruka mutters.

“It’s an illness.”

“It’s stupid.”

Kakashi sighs and lets his hands rest on his knees, wordlessly inviting Iruka to hold them. The chunin takes one in both hands, rubbing his thumbs over Kakashi’s skin with a quiet noise of discontent when he reaches the scars on his wrist. “Then I’ve been stupid too,” Kakashi says quietly.

“You don’t have to hide, though,” Iruka whispers. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Don’t I?” Kakashi pokes at his mask with his free hand and cocks one side of his mouth up in what passes for a smile these days. “I hide.”

“You don’t _have_ to,” Iruka says.

Kakashi’s not going to argue. He watches the fading sunlight play in Iruka’s eyes and over his skin as they sit in silence. It did Iruka well, it seems, his coming over today. He’ll have to thank Anko for the shove in the right direction. “Would you like me to do your bedding?” he asks after a while. “I didn’t want to rummage through private quarters without permission.”

“I’ll just sleep on the couch tonight,” Iruka says. “I don’t want to bother.”

“I’m not asking you to do it yourself, I’m asking if _I_ can do it,” Kakashi says. “Or if there’s things you don’t want me to see in there.”

“Everything.”

“Then I’ll come back when you’ve shut everything away,” Kakashi says, cupping the back of Iruka’s hand with his own. “You can show me when you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.” He doesn’t hide it well, what he really means, and Iruka freezes. “I’m not going anywhere, Iruka. It’s okay.”

“Sometime later,” Iruka says. He takes his hands back and tucks them under his armpits, hiding himself. “My bedroom’s...private.”

“Whatever you say,” Kakashi says. “I’ll wait on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Feedback is _always_ appreciated and encouraged, be it via kudos/comments/bookmarks or through any of my social media below.
> 
> * [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sparkswithyou)  
> * [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AryaGrace4)  
> * [Discord](https://discord.gg/ZkxAX9r) (or aryagraceling#4222 if you're not looking for another server)  
> * [AO3 Armada](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951), a facebook group for all creators and readers.


End file.
